Neudorf the Caveman Doorman Descendant

There is little known about the historical origins of the doorman.  Some scholars purport that the earliest doormen date back to the “cave man” area.  Said Professor Johnathan Timmothy Higgenbotthom, of Harvard University, “Where there were doors, there were doormen,” noting the correlation of the first openings in cave dwellings.

Higgenbotthom’s scholarly adversary, (and coincedentally, his  fierce rival at the YMCA men’s Thursday night bowling league)  Ferriday R. Mosely, argues against this theory.  Mosely, a doctor of historical preservation and rejuvenation, recently stated in an interview with GQ Magazine:  “Absurd.  Totally absurd.  Ol’ John Timmy has gone off the deep end.  There is absolutely no evidence to support his verbal dribblings, which are a big, fatty, load of tripe.”  Higgenbotthom and Mosely were said to have exchanged blows on the Harvard campus, the day after this interview hit the news stands.

However, of recent interest and notability:  A pair of white gloves and a little tin whistle were found at an archaeological dig just outside of the Hohler Stein Caves, located in southern Germany.  They date to 11,000 B.C.  Perhaps John T. is onto something……

This is Billy the Doorman.  He works at The Planters Inn on Market Street.  His last name is Neudorf.  Billy Neudorf the Doorman, from the Planters Inn, I’ll tell you.  (German descent…. hmmmmm…..  eats his steaks rare… hmmmm……  likes to watch Barney the Purple Dinosaur on TV…. hmmmmm….

The winner is…

A week ago, I ran a “Open Mic at the Blog Night” and I got some great responses.

But the winning trophy and big prize goes to:  JazzerHat from DeMoines, Iowa, with the following entry:

“Oh mein Mensch. Sollten Sie die Größe der Spinne auf diese Mauer hier unten. Ich bin immer sehr noch. Sehr noch. Diese Sache sieht wie ein Pudel mit acht Beine.”

So Jaz, congratulations.  You have won a photo of the keys to this house.   Email me with shipping details.

Thanks for playing everybody.

Ferdinand’s Hat

On today’s date, Portuguese navigator Ferdinand Magellan reached the Pacific Ocean after passing through the South American strait that now bears his name.  That, was in 1520.  Can you imagine?  That’s 500 stinking years ago (almost).  Getting on a rickety old ship and setting sail across the ocean, to who knows where or what? (Heck, I won’t even drive into a neighborhood I don’t know real well)…. but that Ferdinand setting sail…..  Brave or Crazy, I’ll tell you.  Brave or Crazy….  Well, in Magellan’s case, I think it was a little bit of both….maybe leaning more toward the loopy side.

Did you know Magellan wore a horse-head-hat every day he sailed.  He did it for good luck.  I think it was a real horse head.  Loopy and gross.  (He was naked a lot too….except for the hat.)  And we have a statue down in these parts to commemorate the whole deal.

The whole horse

Some things in life, are like……. thinking you are buying a whole horse, but when the Horse-Delivery-Guy brings it, you only get the hooves.  And not even the matching hooves.

Or they try to sell you a mule and say it is a horse….

Today we ate at the Hominy Grill.  It is probably the fifth or so time I’ve eaten there, and probably the fifth or so time I’ve been sorely disappointed by the food.  It gets write-ups in the travel magazines, and I’ve heard it was even on the Food Network for the best grits in the U.S.  Fiddlesticks, I say.   I mean, the food was okay, but barely.  Certainly not worth all the hoopla that this place continues to garner.  They must have connections.  (If you want a GREAT breakfast in these parts, go to TOAST on Meeting Street. The Best Everything!  Yummm-ola!)

But, back to today:  When somebody sells you a horse, and doesn’t deliver, the moral of the story is:  DON’T keeping buying horses from them.  (Mary even said she’s not going back to that Equine Dealership!)


I have a habit of calling all squirrels “Skippy” and of course, they probably take offense to this.  Somewhat stereotypical of me, really.  And in addition to that, I always feel the need to spout off some “smart” comment to them…

So today, I am walking through Battery Park, and I see this little fella.  I say to him, “Well, howdy-ho little Skippy?  What goes on with you today?  What ya’ eatin’ there little buddy ….. tee…. hee….hey there Skipper….where do you hide your nuts?”  And I started laughing pretty darn hard.  (Milk came out of my nose, and I wasn’t even drinking milk.)

At any rate, the squirrel looks straight at me, holds up a little sunflower seed hull, and then I swear…. I swear…….he gave me the little squirrely-furry-middle-finger.    He then cocks his tiny head,  and says, “The name’s Floyd.”  (Now what kind of squirrel-parents name their kid “Floyd”?)  It’s just not right, I’ll tell you.  Just not right.  (No wonder he’s angry.)

Black Dog Dogma

The thing of it is, black dogs get the cold shoulder.

I have two dogs, or shall I say, THEY have ME.  Their names are Maxine and Frances.  Max is part West Highland Terrier and part Shih Tsu.  France is mostly black lab with a bit of border collie, and a little pointer mixed somewhere in there (in all likelihood).

Unfortunately, most of my photos of Frances look like THIS:

….and most of my photos of Maxine……

look like THIS:

And that is the way of the Black Dog.

They are the very last to get adopted at Animal Shelters.  As a photographer, having a black dog is a bit of a curse.  No matter where you shoot them, they just look like a black blob smack-dab in the middle of your frame.  When we take walks on the downtown streets here, people point at Max and say…”Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!  What a CUTE little dog that is!  What kind is she? She is absolutely adorable!…….. Oh, your black dog seems nice too.”

I’m not sure what kind of emotional impact this has on France.  It has to be hard.  She has been licking her butt unceasingly lately.  I think it is because of the stress she feels from her experiences with ‘The Ugly Duckling’ Syndrome.  Yes, an arduous life journey for Miss Frances, indeed.

Did I mention that I love my Black Dog?  She gives me her everything.  She is one of the best pals a human could ever ask for…..

Open Mic Night at the Blog

Okay, enough about me already.  Geez Luigi.  It’s been months, and I’ve done ALL the talking.  Now, it is up to you….

Our VERY FIRST installment of “Night at the Blog” (Tickets are dang cheap, I’ll tell you.) So, without further ado:

**** Your Caption / Story Goes Here***** (I won’t hold my breathe, but I’m ready to hear what you want to say.  Write it up or jot it down.  Sing it or say it.  Makes little difference to me.  (No MIMES Please.)  If you want to participate in the contest, you can comment here, or email it to me:  Winner gets the big grand prize!)  Good Luck.

UPDATE:  (11.24.2010)– I’ve gotten quite a few submissions so far this morning! FUN!!!!  And some questions….

1. You can use this photo, if you want… or any of my other photos…. OR one of your own.  YOU ARE THE ARTIST!

2. I said ABSOLUTELY NO MIMES.  How difficult is that for some of you mimes to understand….????

3. The contest stays open until Tuesday, November 30th, at midnight EST.

Ho Problem

Well, looky at the calendar.  Thanksgiving is just a few days away.  So, I’ve decided to do what most others are doing… and that’s “Talk about Christmas.”   I saw these double-whammies the other day, and I thought to myself…..”Santa is going to have a problem.”

Strike or spare….

Bowling Ball Tree (These are baby bowling balls…. just starting in their first stages of growth.  Most people don’t know this is how they develop.  Soon, this tree will look much differently.  It’s branches are strong to hold the weight of the balls.)  Also known as The Brunswick Bush.  Found mostly in the southern states, they typically grow well in alleys.